


The Art Exhibit

by Neverever



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 890fifth, Angst and Feels, Art Shows, M/M, Nostalgia, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverever/pseuds/Neverever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has a bad time at an art exhibit of his pre-war artist friends and Tony is there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Exhibit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [890 Fifth Avenue's](890fifth.tumblr.com) eleventh round prompt: You Can't Go Home.
> 
> Thanks to my beta as usual.

“Are you sure about this?” Tony asked.

“Yes,” Steve answered, barely looking up from his newspaper. “Want to make a day of it? I was thinking we could go to the exhibit, check out the museum, maybe walk around the old neighborhood, and go to that restaurant you’ve been interested in trying. Unless you’re busy this morning …..”

“I could use a real day off. So, yeah, let’s do that.” Tony drank his coffee and studied his boyfriend. Steve hid his emotions like a pirate stashing his treasure so Tony had to look for the tiny signs that Steve was upset or angry. He wasn’t sure if the whole tense jaw muscle thing Steve had going on was because of the exhibit or because Steve was annoyed at the Mets. 

The invite to a Brooklyn Museum exhibit featuring the Rose Cohen collection of local Brooklyn artists showed up in Tony’s mail over three months ago. When he asked Steve about it, Steve admitted that he had already turned down the museum’s invitation to the exhibit opening. Rose had been one of Steve’s artist friends from before the war and he wasn’t comfortable about seeing an exhibit about her and his other friends.

Steve turned a page cursing quietly under his breath. Tony could see the box scores so his anger was about the Mets after all. “I’ll be ready to go in an hour, Tony.” 

“Good. I’ll get JARVIS to make the reservations for the restaurant.”

Since it was a Tuesday morning, Tony and Steve had the museum mostly to themselves. Steve recognized immediately the painting used on the exhibit entrance as a work done by a friend. Tony suspected that there might be a story there and Steve muttered something about Pearl Harbor.

Steve told Tony about Rose, a woman with dark curly hair from Long Island who fled her large family, worked for the WPA, and lived in a large apartment with other artists. She had always fretted over him and his poor health, making sure he ate whenever she saw him. Steve seemed surprised that she had married an art dealer after the war, because she had been dating a fellow artist for years. 

Overall, Tony liked the well-rounded exhibit representing about fifty years of local Brooklyn artists. The art was mostly pleasant with a few compelling pieces. Steve was moving slowly through the exhibit. Tony would have been happier had he seen Steve taking out the sketchbook he always brought along to museums. His face was blank and unreadable and movements careful.

“Hanging in there?” Tony asked.

“It’s, um, strange seeing my friends’ works hanging in a museum. Last time I saw some of these pieces they were on my friends’ wall or on easels or stuck behind furniture.”

The curator had included next to one of Rose’s paintings a photograph of a party with a large explanatory label. “Can you find me in the photo?” Steve asked with a slight smile on his lips. “No reading the label.”

Tony studied the crowd in the black and white photo. He finally saw a slight man in a worn white shirt and dark suspenders near a record player. He had seen maybe three photos of pre-serum Steve but he could always recognize Steve. He could see the same intense eyes in the slight man in the photograph as in the man standing next to him. “There,” he said. “So why the party?”

“Hmm, payday probably. Or someone got a job or commission. It didn’t take much to celebrate.”

“No Bucky?”

Steve shook his head. “Bucky didn’t always join me. He had other friends from his pharmacy job or out on dates. He was breaking into boxing around this time so he spent time at the gym.”

Tony looked around the room. “So all this must be by your friends?”

“A lot of it. Look at this.” Steve walked him over to a small watercolor. 

“This is yours?” Tony asked. The small watercolor featured the Brooklyn Bridge in mid-morning sunlight.

“Yes. Rose liked it for some reason and we did an art trade, my watercolor for one of her oils.” Steve studied the watercolor. “I only worked in watercolors for about six months and did streetscapes. Otherwise I worked in pencils and inks. I wonder now why I thought working with watercolors was such a disaster.”

Tony wandered over to a vitrine he had overlooked in the middle of the room. There he saw a poster and a couple of magazines with ads illustrated by Steve. The curator had included a couple of letters Steve had sent Rose from the USO tour, one letter had small drawing of him in action with his USO Captain America outfit and triangle shield. 

He looked sharply up at Steve who had moved on to another piece. If this was creeping him out, how was Steve handling it so well? Or was he? Steve’s jaw was getting tense again.

He joined Steve at the triptych on the opposite wall. Steve explained in a cracking voice that it was a tribute to his friends who had died in WWII, including Steve. Jay had been shot down in the Pacific Theater and Doris had been killed in an industrial accident at a munitions plant. Then there was Steve front and center. They had lovingly painted him with the ever present sketchbook and pencil box and as Captain America.

“Are you okay, Steve?” Tony asked, reaching for Steve’s hand.

“My friends never saw me after I enlisted and took the serum. I thought I’d have a chance to see everyone before I shipped out to Europe. But I never saw – they never saw me as this.” He waved a hand over himself. “So they didn’t know what I looked like when they painted that. It’s like they saw a movie and kind of guessed the rest.” 

Tony heard the hitch in Steve’s voice as he talked. He squeezed Steve’s hand. “We can leave, if you want."

Steve hesitated. “No, no. I’m sure the rest of the exhibit is fine.”

They walked into the next room with the post-WWII art part of the exhibit. Tony had already been through this room so he figured Steve would be fine. Steve had a voracious appetite for post-war art. He left for the bathroom.

It took some time for Tony to return for Steve. He did the bathroom run but ran into some admirers. Tony thought he had been gone only a few minutes. Apparently he had been gone long enough for Steve to get into a fight. Or what would pass for a fight. It was an art museum after all.

Steve was having a tense conversation with a curator and a familiar man in a suit in front of his watercolor. He was pointing at the watercolor and at a work leaning against the wall. The man was shaking his head angrily at Steve.

“Um, Steve?” Tony asked.

“Tony, I’m in the middle of something.” Steve was bristling all over. 

The suited man exclaimed, “Tony? Tony Stark? Remember me, Charles Sousa from Sotheby’s?” He reached out to shake Tony’s hand. “We met a few years ago when you bid on a Koenig.”

Pepper must have brought him along to the auction for some reason or other. Tony usually didn’t attend in person. Might have been a charity event. “What’s going on?” 

“Mr. Sousa here insists that he has an original piece by Steve Rogers,” the distraught curator offered. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there. “We were comparing works.”

“And I said it’s not,” Steve concluded.

“And I have the provenance information that states that the artist – Steve Rogers – gave this work to my seller.”

When Steve got angry, and Tony had seen him really angry, he got very quiet and menacing. Tony recognized the signs. “I did not paint that. I did not give that to your seller,” Steve snapped. His eyes narrowed and his right hand flexed back and forth.

“He would know, Charles,” Tony said with all the charm he could muster. “He’s the artist after all.”

“You’re Steve Rogers?” Charles replied.

This happened every now and then. Even though Steve was all over the news nearly every day and there had been a documentary or two about Steve’s recovery from the ice, there was always that guy who didn’t believe that Steve really was the famous Captain America. Maybe this time it was worse, the Sotheby’s guy didn’t even recognize Steve as the artist in the exhibit.

“Yes,” Steve said. He whipped his wallet out of his back pocket and waved his license at the guy. That weird license that had Steve’s birthday –July 4, 1918 – next to his picture that looked like it had been faked. Steve had to renew his license every year because he was flagged in the system as an elderly driver.

Charles looked at the license and back at Tony. “He’s Steve Rogers. He’s the expert, like I said,” Tony said, flashing a smile. “I’m sure that Sotheby’s prefers not to sell forgeries. That news might shake up the Rogers art market.”

“Yes, of course,” Charles said, trying to recover from his shock.

“Give my office a call and we’ll help you sort it all out later,” Tony said, proffering his business card.

They all shook hands. Tony snagged Steve’s arm and tugged him away from the exhibit. “Had enough, big guy?”

“Maybe, maybe we should just go home,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

Back at the penthouse, Tony changed into his workshop jeans and t-shirt. Steve was in their bathroom doing something or other. Tony was putting the shirt he wore to the museum in the hamper when he heard a choked sob from the bathroom. He ran over and saw Steve clutching the edge of his sink fighting back tears.

“Hey, hey, lighten up on the grip,” Tony said gently. Steve had been known to break things.

Steve reluctantly looked up at him, his eyes rimmed with red. “Oh, baby, it’s been a rough day, hasn’t it?” Tony said, reaching out for him.

“I’ll be okay, Tony. I’m going to work out and it will all be fine.”

Tony drew in a breath. If he didn’t head this off, Steve would spend the next eight hours in the gym wreaking havoc on the equipment and himself. Maybe even top it off with a good long sulk watching sports.

“Come here,” he said, pulling Steve over to their bed.

“Tony –“

Tony leaned against the pillows and headboard. “Come here, Steve.” 

Steve bit his lip and looked around the room. Thinking better of it, he sighed and climbed onto the bed after Tony. Tony put his arms around Steve, who put his head on Tony’s shoulder. Tony caressed Steve’s tense back. “It’s okay to let it out, Steve.”

His boyfriend said nothing for a long time, letting Tony caress and kiss him. “The exhibit was fine, Tony. But that guy –“

“Yeah, he should have believed you.”

“I told him who I was and he didn’t believe me.” Steve shuddered. “It was tough enough thinking that my friends wouldn’t have recognized me if I came back from the war. But I know my art. And that man from Sotheby’s didn’t want to listen.”

“It’s rare when one of your pieces comes on the market. There’s a big demand and high prices.”

Steve burrowed into Tony’s side. “I’m not that good an artist – not now, not back then. If I wasn’t Captain America, none of my work would be in a museum.”

“Hey, you’re pretty good, Steve.”

“I’m realistic, Tony,” Steve replied. “I’m always learning and I need to practice.”

Tony squeezed him and tried a different tack. “You were brave to go to that exhibit –“

Steve snorted. “I noticed you’re not interested in visiting your past.”

“My past isn’t as good as yours. No one is going to put me in a museum for that stuff, not unless there’s a party museum out there. Because I did throw some impressive parties.”

Tony could feel the tension leave Steve’s body. Steve said, “You could found a party museum.” They laughed as they joked about what a party museum would look like and the special Stark wing.

“So are you still up for dinner out tonight?” Tony asked.

“I would like to. Maybe we could do something else before dinner?”

“Movie?”

Steve chuckled. “No. I have better ideas.” He lifted himself up to kiss Tony. 

“Oh, I see. JARVIS, we’re off the grid for the next three hours.” 

As Steve repositioned himself to kiss Tony more, he murmured, “Thanks for being there, Tony. I couldn’t have gone without you.”

“Anytime, big guy, and anything for you.”


End file.
